It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good To The Last Death #1) - Robyn Peterman Page 0,18

her back for a belly rub. “Well, soon,” she added with a giggle.

“Do you like her?” Heather asked, squatting down to pet the happy dog. “We can take her back to the shelter if we overstepped.”

Did I like her? Yes. I was pretty sure I already loved her and I’d barely even held her yet. Could I take care of her? I wasn’t sure. But when Heather said the word shelter, my decision was made. I now owned a dog.

“Yep,” I said, scooping the wiggly puppy into my arms.

“Name?” Jennifer asked, grabbing a ham salad sandwich and going to town.

“Umm… Donna,” I said with a grin. “Donna the Destroyer.”

“Ohhh,” Missy said with a groan. “With a name like that, she’s going to eat every sofa in your house.”

Hugging her close, I breathed in her sweet puppy smell. “I don’t care,” I told my friends with a delighted laugh as Donna the Destroyer licked my nose. “I don’t care one single bit.”

And I didn’t. Donna the Destroyer was real. I was sure of it. Maybe the ghosts would disappear if I wasn’t so needy for companionship.

And maybe they wouldn’t.

Chapter Five

“Napoleon Bonaparte’s penis was auctioned off in 1977,” Jennifer announced, swigging straight from the bottle of chardonnay.

“Bullshit,” Heather said from her curled-up position on the love seat.

We were all slightly buzzed, some more than others—meaning Jennifer. It was just right.

The food had been delicious and consumed in great quantities. My ham sandwiches were the hit of the evening. There were enough leftovers for a small army. Our Southern ancestors would be proud.

“I shit you not,” Jennifer insisted. “Some dumbass urologist from New Jersey bought it for three thousand dollars and kept it for thirty years.”

“Why?” Missy asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she snuggled with Donna the Destroyer on the couch.

Donna was adjusting just fine. She’d peed on the rug twice but did her poopy business outside. It was turning out to be a blessing that I was working from home this week, now that I had a new fur-baby. Staying away from the new lawyer was an excellent plan as well. Embarrassing myself more than I already had wasn’t on my agenda of fun things to do.

“Well now, I don’t know why anyone would buy the chopped-off penis of a dictator,” Jennifer said, trying to wince but getting no result. “Time magazine said it looked like a ‘maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace’. It’s also been compared to a shriveled eel and beef jerky.”

“Why do you know this stuff?” I asked with a laugh. I would never be able to eat eel sushi again without thinking of Napoleon’s package. “It’s so gross.”

“No clue,” Jennifer replied, uncorking yet another bottle of wine. “But I can also share that the average speed of ejaculation is twenty-eight miles an hour and the largest penis is thirteen and a half inches long.”

“That’s why I like vaginas,” Heather commented.

“I’m really thinking you might be onto something there,” Jennifer said with a loud burp.

June raised her hand and waited politely.

“Umm… June, you don’t have to raise your hand,” I said with a grin. “It’s a party, not school.”

“Well, crap,” June said with a giggle. “You’re right. I have a joke.”

“Go for it, June,” Missy said.

“Well, not really a joke,” June clarified. “Just silly stuff.”

“Any penis facts?” Jennifer inquired.

“No, absolutely not,” June said, tossing a pillow at Jennifer’s head. “Okay, here goes… Did you know the name of John Lennon’s first girlfriend was Thelma Pickles?”

“For real?” I asked with a laugh. “That’s awful. Do more.” I settled into the big overstuffed armchair and wrapped the afghan Gram had made around me. It was lovely having people in my home… living people.

“Well, the average adult spends more time on the toilet than exercising,” June informed us.

“That’s true,” Jennifer agreed with a nod. “I’m on the crapper all the time.”

“You should stop talking,” Heather advised Jennifer.

“Roger that,” Jennifer said, pouring herself a healthy glass of wine.

“I’ve got one,” Missy said, sitting up and putting a sleepy Donna on a blanket on the floor. “If you’re waiting to be served in a restaurant, shouldn’t you be called the waiter?”

That one floored us. It was brilliant or we were really toasted.

Missy soaked in the impressed reactions with delight and kept going. “Why is there an S in the freaking word lisp?” she demanded.

She received applause for that one.

“And for my last observation of the evening,” Missy said with a wide grin. “I think sweater is a really disgusting name for a piece